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I looked at Cooper, who raised his eyebrows. “It could be a memory. You might want to get Donovan to help you sort through it.”
“Yeah, I should.”
Patrick continued eating, and it wasn’t long before we moved on the topic of his donation to the PET.
“You could have just given the money to us without being fined.”
Greg snorted. “But where was the fun in that? He got to punch a homophobic asshole in the face. And he spouted off to Simon. Wish I’d been there to see it.”
Cooper looked at his husband and shook his head as if he were exasperated with him. “We don’t condone violence, Gregory.”
That made me snort. “Ever seen a football game, Coop?”
He shot me the bird, making everyone laugh.
Patrick drank some of his water, then added his perspective to the conversation. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m glad he’s gone.”
Greg smiled and held up his big, football catching hand to fist bump Patrick. “Me too, brother. Me too.”
That night when we went to bed, I propped up Patrick’s pillows, then sat facing him. I had to start this conversation before the guilt ate me alive. He looked at me quizzically, then smiled at me.
I frowned. “What are you smiling at?”
“You. You look all serious, like when you’re writing a song and the lyrics are giving you a fit and you can’t decide to what to write.”
Swallowing, he wasn’t that far off. “Yeah, well…”
I toyed with the hem of the blanket, stalling again.
“Just ask me what you want to know. I can see it in your eyes every time my memory is brought up.”
I nodded, thinking about Simon’s advice. “Yeah, okay. I’m just kinda terrified.”
“Why would you be terrified? This is me and you. Are you afraid I’m not going to remember something?”
No, I’m afraid of what happens to us when you do.
I shook my head. “No, but things weren’t good between us before the accident.”
Patrick studied me, unblinking. “I know.”
“You remember that?”
He nodded. “Some of it. And some I’d like to forget.”
“Like what?” My heart was gonna pound out of my fucking chest.
He looked down at my hand, twisted up in the blanket. Reaching over, he quietly untangled the mess I’d made. And it struck me that this was what Patrick had always done. He’d taken my crazy and untangled the messes I made.
Tears filled my eyes, making it difficult to see him clearly.
When he looked up at me, he gave me a soft, knowing smile. “I remember our last night together in San Francisco. The night of the Super Bowl.”
I swallowed hard.
“I remember waking up the next morning, and the sheets where you’d been were cold. And I knew you were gone.”
Tears streamed down my face, unchecked. “I’m sorry for being so selfish. I just wanted us to be like everyone else. I just?—”
